#month long

[cokowiii]

Wanna do a thing

For spooky month

[zombunny-06]

:3

[anco-writes]

Fattytober Day 1: Something New

https://www.furaffinity.net/view/58305134/

the premise of the prompt list I saw said to focus on ONE character. Over the course of the month. Steadily growing fatter. I've never done that before. I've always liked weight gain sequences, I love the idea of a character getting fatter over time, but it's not something I've ever really tried to produce myself. But well, here we are. The first episode's definitely a bit meta, and I talk about this very subject within. The main character, and the one who'll be getting fatter over the course of the month, is Ace! Beloved Ace, our system's resident femboy. there's definitely gonna be gender stuff down the line, but for now, I've rambled enough. This one isn't even a full 1k words, and I'm aiming for around 2 pages each, which should end up with, logically, 31k and 62 pages, which uh, is a lot! but not when you do it one day at a time i guess? we'll see. Maybe I'll write a novel in November while I'm at it :U Day 1: Something New

“So you’ve never done that sort of long form content before?” A blue avian sat in a comfortable office, opposite a slender fox. Their words clearly stirred up some level of agitation in their conversational partner. 

“Don’t call it content! But no, we’ve never really experimented with it. You know, rapid gains, quick feedback, Swelling out of your clothes, that sort of thing is where the money’s at. Having a character gain slowly over an extended course of time is something that’s better left to a time skip if you ask me. Besides, what would we even write about? There would need to be a narrative, I can’t imagine the mind numbing minutia of slowly fattening a character and just describing them a few pounds fatter each time. I mean really, more pronounced changes-” “I’m gonna cut you off there.” The bird sighed, shaking their head and tapping their taloned fingers against the clipboard they were working with. “I can understand your misgivings. Like you’ve said, we’ve never done long form Narrative Arcs-” They made air quotes and rolled their eyes as they said it. “But the whole point is to try something new, get out of your comfort zone. You know. It’s no different from saying “I could make a pollock” when you’ve never even touched a canvas before. You hate that sentiment, so why shy away from the challenge.

The silver furred fox glowered at the comparison, huffing as they shifted in their seat. “That’s not a fair comparison. I never said I could write that sort of stuff.”

“But you won’t know until you try.” Red was smirking as they trotted the phrase out.

“You know I’ve been seeing a lot of discourse about the ‘do it scared’ mantra-” As Ace tried to derail the subject, Red interrupted by withdrawing a small pistol and shooting the silver fox right in his chest. 

Silence hung in the room as Ace’s eyes trembled, startled by the loud BANG that rang out. First they looked down at their chest, no pain, but maybe that was just shock? They raised their paw and touched the spot that had been hit, but found no blood or anything. “What the, FUCK! Not funny, what the hell Red?” As Ace shot up from their seat, the blue bird just laughed it off.

“I know what you’d been thinking. ‘Long form weight gain stories where the character simply eats a lot of lives a sedentary life style is antithetical to my political views about how weight gain and excersize are political entities, blah blah blah. Nobody’s coming here for that! But I know your silly shield of ethics would prevent you from working this angle, so I came up with a fun solution that I know you’ll love.”

Ace immediately began to feel around under their hoodie, knowing a dart or something was surely sticking into them right now. “S-So what, you just shoot me with a weight gain gun and I get fat? That’s hardly a long form arc!” An electric sensation began to spread through Ace’s body, ears twitching and tail swishing in anticipation for the waves of euphoria that were likely to follow. 

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you? Familiar territory and all. Well, no such luck, foxy boy. You are right, I did shoot you with a weight gain dart. A long form, slowly acting, weight gain dart. It’ll run its course in a month. Exactly 31 days actually.”

The anticipation Ace had built up… well at first it felt like it vanished, but instead it lingered, in a most horrifying way. The adrenaline rush of oncoming expansion died down, but instead they focused on their body and found no immediate stimuli to react to. Ace wasn’t above admitting they liked to be fattened up, but it had always been a rather bombastic affair… And being caught was always the fun part, the moment you slip up and your predator has their way with you, despite your best efforts. 

Being shot point blank in the middle of a conversation did feel a bit like a cop out to the thrill seeking fox, but at the same time, they saw the framework of a mental battlefield laid out before them. “I bet you think you’re so clever for that one.”

“Hey, you could have come up with something else. Like a fresh splash of paint on a prospective imitation of a pollock, I quite literally fired the first shot to motivate you. You’re free to retaliate, use whatever of Cecil’s magic or your mask or any other silly trick up your sleeve, you could even try and beat me at my own game and fatten yourself up by an arbitrarily large amount, but that dart would still be in your system delivering slow burn narrative tension.

The point is, we’re trying something new here. I look forward to seeing 31 days of progress from you~ Session’s over, you’re free to do whatever, fight your fate, embrace it, concoct a multi stage epic trying to reverse the effects, maybe that one would be the best bet, you’ll probably end up pretty massive~ But that’s time, good luck~!” Red waved their feathery hands, beady red eyes flicking towards the door. “Don’t let it hit you on that big ‘ol ass on the way out!”

Ace, still standing from the little outburst earlier, slumped forward and began to leave. “Well… I do like some attention… SOME!” As they made their way out, they rubbed a wary paw over the seat of their pants… was it getting bigger already, or was he just imagining it?

[apricote]

look at the little crows feet i added on sammy today. </3

[thecinnaroll]

🧡MONTH LONG DONOTHON STARTS TODAY💛

The Donothon with @punny0verlord starts today!

From July 1st-31st we’ll be streaming everyday!

Funds go to my friend to help them recover from a financial crisis

Lots of art raffles and even 2 raffles for merch and a Chibi Live2D Model!

Cinna’s Twitch Link: Twitch Link: Twitch.tv/thecinnaroll

Rosa’s Twitch Link: https://www.twitch.tv/lord_shibi

[ardri-na-bpiteog]

Also increasingly aware that a LOT of people "manage" getting through the 40+ hour work week by sleeping less than is healthy and relying on stimulants like coffee and energy drinks to keep them going.

For people who are unwilling or unable to do this...work really does just dominate your life. Like we really should not have to rely on unhealthy practices just to have a social life or keep on top of housework or whatever.

I know I post about this a lot but I'm so TIRED all the time and it's just so depressing that this is how we're expected to spend the one life we have.

[goldensunset]

did you know? if you do your laundry you can get your clothes back

[captainjonnitkessler]

You know I used to think "tumblr's absolute refusal to actually engage with the Trolley Problem in favor of insisting that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is just a short-sighted idiot is really fucking annoying, but I guess it's not actually doing any harm".

Anyway that was before we asked tumblr at large to decide between "guy aiding a genocide but making progress elsewhere" and "guy who would actively and enthusiastically participate in a genocide and would also make everything else much, much worse for everyone elsewhere" and the response was that there must be a third, morally pure option that doesn't require them to make a hard decision and that anyone who asks them to make a binary choice is a short-sighted idiot.

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[incredubious]

MODERN AU ACESAN !!!! first impressions with a guy who barely passes the No Shoes No Shirt No Service rule

[evenlyevi]

False halo

[chloesimaginationthings]

Can’t spell “Five nights at Freddy’s” without GAY

(Based off @/flashcs5 post)

[firefrightfic]

to anyone missing my writing please know i am also missing my writing

[marimbles]

Halloween comic two weeks late bc i will never let tamadrien die

[squidthusiast]

“I could listen to your laugh all day”

[herbarimoon]

Here with you

+ bonus danganronpa blood version